Purple
by MAR2811
Summary: She kissed him and hugged him and he thought that was the best feeling in the entire world. But then, his world was turned upside down (again). At the end of that same day, she had decided she needed space and she needed time and she needed seclusion and apparently he needed nothing… well…
1. Home

**First, NCIS LA does not belong to me ... naturally.**

**Second, this is an English version of my Portuguese story «Roxo». I'm just experimenting in this (new) world of FF. Hope I'm not ruining anything.**

**Thirdly… third, please bear in mind that things are not always what they seem to be and enjoy (if possible) the first chapter of «****_Purple_****». ;)**

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_- Purple -_

**Chapter 1 (Home)**

Though he _just_ found Monty waiting each time he returned home (a 'just' he did not usually recognize in those homecomings, because Monty used to be enough, even more than enough), he loved being back. He had this feeling of comfort and peace; he saw a small absence of the constant struggle in which he lived, each time he returned to his house...

It was clear that he (deeply) loved his job. He loved the adrenaline it gave him, he secretly loved that feeling of being a special human being (a wonder man) each and every time his team helped to save the world ... Sometimes, he loved it for the feeling of redemption that it inspired in his heart. Because not infrequently, he found himself lost in stubborn memories, remembering how he shot his father, the man who gave him life, the drunk and violent aggressor, the first one who threatened to take his life. Years and years of words from social workers, psychologists, teachers and one or two foster parents with more respect for the human condition, repeating that he had no responsibility or liability in the awful events of his childhood didn't quiet the voice that lived within him, reminding him of what _she_ had said.

Sometimes, he thinks about the day one of his colleagues at a children's centre - with a life story not too different from his - called him a "drama queen", claiming that "life is life" and things are just the way they are. From then on, he got used to wearing a disguise... and he kept on doing so. After all, maybe it was indeed an exaggeration; maybe he did indeed overreact; he had no family really, but that's the past; he lives daily with the death of others (victims included), but he should have already become accustomed to that; his life hangs by a thread, repetitively, but that's part of the job; he survives daily to the agonizing fear of losing all those around him, but ... he shouldn't and he won't create exaggerated drama ... Yeah... Right…

These days, he loves his job even more, because now "job" also means Kensi (though he wouldn't put this feeling into words). Nevertheless, the homecoming continued to be, for a long time, the return to his safe heaven. What he wasn't expecting was to react so differently to this homecoming ... this homecoming, after this last mission.

They had lived several days as husband and wife and the word "home" began – within him – to be composed of so many different elements. "Home" has become less silence and more techno blasting, less organization and more confusion, less right side and more left side, less empty chairs across the table and more breakfasts convoyed by strange (and ... "physically disturbing" ) moans of pleasure caused by the simple chocolate pancakes ... less a warm body on autopilot at the end of the day and more - _much more_ - a hot body, pulsating and always in the limit between the right words and the excessive statements, between the justifiable gestures and the gestures impossible to remove or undo.

When he returned to his house, wrapped in a nauseating discomfort, with the hassle of having what he does not have, with the certainty that he feels but he denies, with the frustration of getting away but wanting to stay, he found a small - tiny - smile when he started unpacking his clothes.

Purple.

How is it even possible? Purple.

She had this tummy ache like if it was her first day of school (or one of her high school days…), she had a debilitating tremor in her legs and she felt her hands wet from the nervousness sweat- all because she was about to knock on that door, at an odd hour , on such a _different_ day...

Honestly, she thought he would be the one conceding. She thought he would be the one knocking at her door and not the other way around, she thought he would arrive at her house with his beautiful million-watt smile, an apologetic expression, looking as a bashful boy who is never invited anywhere, shrugging and hoping she would completely open her door to him ... but he did not. During the first hour, she imagined how she would pretend to be upset and annoyed and surprised before letting him in. (Actually, she would let him in just for pure education and mere lack of an alternative.)

In the second hour, she began to think that she wouldn't need to be so harsh. By the third hour, she already questioned everything she had read in his eyes during their last mission and she felt her heart constrict and all the air escape her lungs. And finally, by the fourth hour (_it always takes her long enough, right?_), she decided she is Kensi Blye and a Blye is never wrong and rarely has questions, and if he does not solve something, she takes care of it.

Then again, in front of his door, the fear appears.

Fear.

How is it even possible? Fear.

Monty had desperately needed a walk and despite the late hour and the odd cold showing its presence, he relented (of course he did). He wasn't expecting to find her at his door when he returned to his house, but it was so good, it was so spectacularly good that it had happened.

Hesitating, she was in front of his door, but she wasn't knocking. She raised her fist two or three times, but she never finished her action. She also didn't turn or walk away.

However great his curiosity was, his ability to control his little fellow was not enough. Monty seemed to sympathize with Kensi's situation – or maybe he already loved her as much as his master- and so he ran to her, stirring her from her thoughts. When she saw them, she used the euphoria of that adorable puppy and gave him her attention, taking the opportunity to look for a reason to be there. Suddenly, all the reasons she had planned to enumerate had vanished.

But he did not ask her any justification.

He simply smiled, opened his door and invited her to join them inside. (Beautiful.)

He approached her and wordlessly led her into his living room. He led her to the sofa, made her sit down and gave her a blanket. Using his humorous and relaxed manner, he teased her, claiming that Monty had "stolen" the blanket on the street market weeks before, forcing him, not only to pay much more for it, but also to invest his charm on the task of calming down the hot saleswoman. The adjective did not please her, but she noticed how he was trying to gauge her reaction, and so she pretended not to care. Shortly afterwards, he could not help his wish to sweeten his incessant rambling, explaining that Monty just stole the blanket to give her, to make everything very comfortable for her, expecting she would come and visit them more often, simply because she already bewitched _him_ (Monty, of course).

This was what she needed and exactly what he wanted to give her, because she was the first one conceding. The truth was that if it hadn't been for Monty "requiring" that walk, he would have been the one making a trip to her house to stay, probably, standing at her doorstep.

He went to the kitchen and brought a box of candies. He introduced her to the "cronut". Then, he sat by her left side and pulled part of the blanket, making it clear that he had no other blanket (Yeah! Right!) and so they would have to share.

In the absence of the right words to say (and still unable to explain that trip, at that hour, to _that_ house), her thoughts ran restlessly without any glimpse of a conclusion. Actually, she wasn't even aware of what was happening in the show the TV had on. She just knew she wanted to be there, but she couldn't expose the reasons to justify that desire and that was the thought that tormented her. And she fought, she fought even with her desires, her wishes, her reasons ... well, she fought the truth. And the growing fear, the growing fear that suddenly he would question her, as he had not done yet, was there. So, she thought it was better to leave and hoped to do it avoiding all his possible questions.

She moved a little and looked at him.

He slept.

Apparently, he had accepted the inevitable and decided to just live what both of them wanted to live (or at least, a glimpse of what they really wanted to live and share). And he lacked only the courage to engage her in his arms, still remaining, between them, a small physical distance, on that couch, under that blanket.

She usually didn't repeat those romantic nonsenses that describe butterflies swirling in the stomach, but at that time, it seemed that her brain (with all its reason and calculated thoughts) was misleading her into wondering and feeling just that - a thousand butterflies in full spins inside her body. She felt happy. She felt happy and ahead, ahead of him, because if you think about it, he slept and she was awake; if you think about it, on the awakening, nobody would know who had done what; if you think about it, at dawn, all cats and all acts are gray; if you think about it, Justin and Melissa, at dawn, destroyed successive distances and the mornings that followed never identified the wrongdoers (or the right doers).

It was then her turn to accept the inevitable, it was her turn to do something and so she closed the distance between them, and when she approached him, her partner was identical to the alias previously created – Deeks was Justin – and had the exact same reaction he used to have on their previous assignment. Quickly, he enveloped her in his arms and rotated a bit, turning his chest (and his _heart_) to her, pulling her closer to him. And there was exactly where she wanted to be – her or Melissa or Tracy or Kiki or Fern (_there_).

If she took the first step, by approaching, it was not too hard for him to do all of the following steps – much more assertive by the way. He turned, hugged her and pulled her closer to him. He was disguising, as he was not even sleeping. But that was the only thing he was disguising. He was happy – _there_.

They had returned _home_.

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;)


	2. World War III

**First, it may seem that this chapter is not related to the previous one. But it will be, later on the story (at least, that's the plan).**

**Second, NCIS LA does not belong to me ... obviously.**

**Thirdly... Third, please enjoy (or so I hope) the second chapter of 'Purple'.**

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_- Purple -_

**Chapter 2 (World War III)**

(Several months later ...)

2 weeks, 14 days, 336 hours, 20160 minutes ... he looked at his watch and took a deep breath, he was sure that that was exactly the time that had passed since he had been (world-shockingly) surprised, when entering the gym and finding her there, trying to release all her frustrations onto the punching bag… She had returned… she had returned, but she hadn't called him or paid him a visit. She hadn't been calling him for a few days before her return and his worries were only growing more and more with each passing day. And neither Hetty, nor Nell, not even Eric (regardless of the mind games and interrogative strategies Deeks tried on the young and naive computer genius) gave him any information about her whereabouts or situation. But none of that crossed his mind in that moment. By seeing her, he felt the indescribable force of a punch to the chest, he felt all the air escape from his lungs and his voice was suddenly stuck inside him. But despite his shock and the tears beginning to form inside him (making themselves almost perceived), he felt he was whole again. Deeks felt whole again as he hadn't felt for a while… gosh… as he had no memory of ever having felt. She was back, she was alive and physically well, capable of all those exercises in the gym, in their gym – she was back on their team, back to him, back home. He imagined each step he should take to approach her, the way his arms would go around her waist, the way he would tighten his grip around her to make their bodies be as close as humanly possible, the way he would revive memories of sunshine and gunpowder, and finally, the way they would kiss (the way he would hold her soft lips between his own) ... but he did nothing. While his thoughts swirled around all these plans, his body froze, as if his muscles deeply distrusted his vision.

Kensi was convinced that _doubt_ was the reason why she was always so profoundly scared of him. She still did not understand how she wasn't scared of almost anything but him, though she was one "billion per cent" sure, beyond a shadow of doubt, he would never, ever, do her any intentional harm. She had really thought that _doubt_ was the reason why she hadn't called him, informed him of her return or visited him… she had known she would see him, sooner or later, but she hadn't been able to figure out what would happen then. And when she saw him, she just thought to herself that what was happening wasn't a question of _doubt – _she was terrifyingly sure about him; it was a problem of guilt.

And the things he was just imagining and planning (while standing motionless in the middle of the gym), she couldn't avoid putting into action. She ran to him and hugged him and whispered words of apology and gratitude – she was sorry she hadn't called, she was sorry she hadn't told him about her return, she was sorry she hadn't shown up at his doorstep immediately, she was thankful cause he was there, cause he was patient, cause he was "him", incredibly "him", and they kissed. They kissed and they hoped that neither Sam nor Callen, nor Nell, nor Eric, (and particularly) nor Hetty or Granger would see them.

But later on... after they had had to end their kisses, pulling apart; after all the team members had greeted her and made a toast for her return; after all the meetings with Hetty and Granger to summarize what words will never truly describe; after she had stated several times she was good to everyone and after the happy farewells for the day, that were accompanied by cheerful see-you-tomorrows; after the day in the headquarters had ended and, interestingly , after she was no longer capable of prolonging it, they spoke.

They spoke and he broke. She broke him, he was no longer whole. She wanted time, space, seclusion, she did not justify, she did not explain, she did not even ask him to be patient, she didn't ask him anything. With no understanding of what was going on, but detecting that there was something to understand, something more than the heavy shadows of a mission like the one she'd just finished, he had not the strength he once demonstrated to argue with her. He was, however, convinced that all would end well, that it would be better to give her the time, space and seclusion she needed ... he would not be the one breaking the thin ice that existed beneath their feet.

But that morning, after there had been 20160 minutes, 336 hours, 14 days, two weeks, his spirit seemed to have already experienced all the possible emotions - confident, hopeful, afraid, scared, frustrated, depressed and deeply angry.

He entered the bullpen trying to disguise the irritation he felt. He took a deep breath and tried to convince himself that he had no right to make demands. The way she was behaving was infuriating him more and more each passing day. She was infuriating him, like she had never done before, believe it or not; he was getting incredibly mad… angry (he corrected his own thought) with the attitude she was presenting to the entire team – including himself; the superiority, the desire to show how she's better than him in every detail, this recent distance to the touch (his touch), to the truth, the sharing, the affection, her recent inflexibility, arrogance, seriousness ... the boring seriousness ... She claimed she was the best in the course of up and down something (he didn't really remember), she was the first of the group to finish the amazing rat race (yeah… pointless!), she was the ace of the famous unicorns' hunting (mmmh! mmmh!), she displayed an elite performance in the sand grains' battle... or whatever! She repeated these conversations, these speeches, as if they hadn't already gotten over this dynamic. And she repeated this behavior every day and, at times, he even thought she was intensifying it. His moments of silence were growing amazingly longer and her incessant rambling was growing to the point of bothering everyone. Sometimes, he responded to the same extent, that is, he used jokes and taunts which were never as true and genuine as before - not because their relationship had changed the day she was gone, but because something changed within her in the day she returned. And it was not difficult for him to understand the reasons of this behavior, she wanted to return to the old scenario of their lives, she wanted to depart from the present and erase the last chapter of their story, she wanted to re- treat him as an outsider (of her heart) - like a stranger… But, while there wasn't a reason - and he was quite sure that no reason would ever be sufficient - this love story would be eternal. And if he had fought so hard until that day, he thought he would rather die fighting than give up.

With the conviction that he was not an intruder, that assuredly, between them, there wasn't the distance of a world but a world of reasons to come closer, that he should walk slowly, but still walk and not stop, he entered confident into the bullpen, showing a grin from ear to ear (which, actually, had no true reflection on his eyes), and he offered warm greetings to everyone. He held her gaze, silently questioning her whether that day would be the day she would give him the time and answers he deserved.

Again, she looked away, trying to deny him.

But he saw something different there ... Could it be anger?

She was furious with what appeared to be a look of triumph on his face, that morning. In the twelve previous mornings of work since her return, twelve times she had seen in his eyes the request for more - more explanations, more words, more closeness, more answers... But this morning, all she could remember was how he had had this cheeky behavior almost every day – with no exception - some time before: he had this behavior of an irresponsible teen, who has nothing to justify, who is not committed to anything, who is never responsible for the words he chooses. He used the flirting, the big flattery words, nicknames such as princess or goddesses, excessive interjections… but all those were empty words. Maybe he had no truth. And to make it worse, he arrived looking deeply into her eyes, making demands, even after he had started the day the way he did. In the twelve mornings of work since her return, twelve times she had taken the most inappropriate, confusing and long route to the headquarters - one that went along the beach (his beach). She never saw him in all those drives, not until that morning, a morning in which she saw him chatting enthusiastically with an almost naked chick that was almost on his lap, speaking almost in his ear, and almost using her hands to touch his hair... almost. But he was not almost laughing, he was not almost rambling fake impressive stories, he was not almost showing off his naked torso, he was not almost using Monty an excuse for conversation ... No, it wasn't almost... it was completely – he was completely doing all that.

And, contrary to what had happened in similar situations - or worse situations - she was not able to restrain herself. Their old dynamic had really changed and, although a part of her brain was screaming that she was the one at fault and not in a position to question, the other part of her brain assertively argued that the errors of both of them were different, her justification was the guilt she inexplicably felt and the respect that another human being, another life story deserved (despite everything that happened in the past) and his motivation was simply the fast and cold desire from a morning at the beach.

Almost… she almost could not control herself, she almost demanded the key to his heart to enter it with a microscope in hand and analyze all his cells of passion and reason, she almost started the third world war… almost! Had Hetty not called her for the last meeting about the secretive mission she had faced and it wouldn't have been "almost", it would have been completely.

He knew something was deeply wrong that morning; something was agonizingly different - even more than in the last two weeks (since her return). He decided to take a step out onto the thin ice and find the strength to argue with her. Then, he waited for the end of her meeting with Hetty, Granger and another agent with whom they shared those bad memories. And it was at the end of that meeting that the detective thought he had found the answer to the mystery at hand - the door opened while Granger was leaving and he saw Kensi in a close hug with the guy that almost had his hands too low on her back, who almost touched the skin on her neck with his lips, who almost had his chest glued to hers, who was not almost Sabatino… who was completely Sabatino.

Third world war...

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;)


	3. A plain agent

**I do not own NCIS.**

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- _Purple_ -

**Chapter 3 (A plain agent)**

She wondered what more would be needed to clarify this man instincts.

In the mission they necessarily shared, his gaze, that frequently ran over her body, the fake "accidental" touches, the veiled annoying words, the boring compliments, the absurdity of his care with this fierce federal agent, and even the anxiety that sometimes he didn't manage to hide, built a disgusting little fire inside her, made her blood boil slowly, led her stomach to repeated twists and turns until the moment she was sure it was tied in knots, and once in a while, left her shaking with profound exasperation ... Well, these were hot flushes of a body locked in a turmoil provoked by anger (never, infallibly never caused by any shadow of passion), these were heats and tremors that gradually consumed the calm, the patience and, unbelievably, the professionalism of Kensi Marie Blye.

On a day when both of them were alone at the shelter, because the remaining members of the team were in a recognition task on the field and Granger (who actually had _never_ been in that place with her ... _never?!_ ...) was - in the true meaning of the word "was" and in the official meaning of the word "was" - in Los Angeles, he crossed the crucial border of a Blye's tolerance. And it was _that_ word (whether or not she was able to admit it), it was specifically _that_ word that triggered the endpoint imposed by Kensi.

Sabatino was convinced he would be able to bend this woman with those lips that smile merely to the right side of his face, giving him a horribly fabricated and dysfunctional aspect; with that thick and stiff hair, which seemed to be going to tear the skin of the hand of any woman; with those melancholically square eyes, that conveyed the sadness of a purely geometrical soul; with that yellow, outdated and outmoded sense of humor, which has as its echo the idiotic and unfortunate silence – the silence of the lack of laughter or suspense or surprise or admiration (a sense of humor that resulted in nothing); with those empty, hollow compliments, that neither left even a tiny shadow in her memory nor produced any metaphorical breeze blowing on her skin or in her body ... nothing, absolutely nothing was shaped, within her, by the attempts of this individual.

And so, on that day, he felt free to question the reasons of "a woman like her"… (oh, dear lord... the originality of telling a woman "_a woman like you_" overshadows any other compliment a woman could get ... on second thought ... maybe not! ...) ... Anyway, the inexplicable self-confidence of Sabatino led him to the unfortunate mistake of questioning Kensi about (in his words) "the absurdity of having a plain shaggy detective as her partner". Mmmh, mmmh! It was _that_ word: _plain_.

Uh! Oh!

She advanced towards this CIA operative and knocked him down the chair, causing him to fall surprised to the ground. Quickly, she got to her knees, beside him, and leaned her sharp friend to this man's little neck, looking at him with the anger she usually directed to the aggressors, terrorists and murderers they tracked and assertively telling him "My answer to you was, is and will forever be "no"! I want you to stop this or I'll make you stop!".

And so, Sabatino stopped.

For the remaining weeks they spent together in that secret assignment, Sabatino stopped. But later, back in the American soil, he seemed to have gained a new and unreasonable hope and so, at the end of that meeting, he stole a hug from her in their last goodbye, ignobly attempting to justify this embrace with the difficult memories they now share. But Kensi thought, at one point, that she was probably ridiculously prancing her ass in her workplace, that she was probably taking an unhealthy attitude in the way she cringed her abdomen, that she was probably showing little sensitivity in the lack of strength she imposed on her arms in that embrace, that she was probably twisting her nose too much, as if showing the discomfort that this hug caused her and the caution this hug required. So she tried to move away politely as he tried to approach stealthily.

He did not move away, but he was _moved_. He was moved and perhaps he finally learned that nobody messes with Hetty Lange's team. Again, he was surprised in the exact moment that Deeks bursts into the room and with a first adrenaline-charged punch (and jealous-charged too, come on!? ...) he knocks him down on the table, taking him to the ground with the second punch, just so they started getting tied in this story. Surprised, Kensi was speechless watching that scene unfold, but then she was even more speechless when the following scenario took action. Deeks looked her firmly in the eyes and walked toward her, reading her expression – she knew he would not be stopped. Approaching further he held her waist and in a split second, they looked at each other and she seemed to defy him ... as if she could not believe he was doing _that_ ("_no way he's doing it"_, she thought)… The threatening stare got her zero results, because nothing stifled his plan: he picked her up (always carefully) and took her on his left shoulder, almost fireman style, as if she was a small child. Taking her out of that room, he carried her to the couch where they shared countless memories – memories of glances at the bodies of one another, of purposely "accidental touches", of heartfelt words, of provocative compliments, of agonizing cares and worries and even of moments of nervousness that they sometimes experienced, finding themselves too close to each other. He laid her down on that couch, he leaned down and whispered three words in her ear.

With these three simple words, her eyes were suddenly wide opened, she felt a huge fire inside her body and her blood boiled uncontrollably, but simultaneously, she felt a more-than-metaphorical breeze tune her skin, causing her recognizable chills. Well, these were tremors and hot flushes caused by an unfailingly passion because, after all, everything, absolutely everything was shaped, within her, by every word uttered by _her_ detective ...

He then returned to the room where the frustrated secret agent collected himself and he shut the door closed, preparing himself to continue _the third world war_. Meanwhile, the entire hubbub brought in an alarmed Callen, a vigilant Sam, an edgy Nell, a tired Granger and an undeniably frightened Eric, all demanding answers. Hetty, unsurprisingly and in her usual calm demeanor, stood between the group and the door of the room where the two knights armed with rage, frustration and thwarted pride were arguing. The skilled lady was – this time and only this time – a little less cryptic. She questioned her senior agents about completing the task that was given to them – check the brakes of the car they so often use; considering there was nothing to see and stop there, she advised the team leader and the ex-navy seal to invite the director, who had already had problems with said brakes somewhere in the past, to visit the garage with them. Callen looked at Hetty as if he was questioning her, but Sam (understanding and approving), called him to withdraw, inviting Granger to go along with a sarcastic smile. Sam's partner gave in and the director thought he was too tired to deal with a domestic mess that Hetty would surely solve and, deep down, this Sabatino has guy always irritated him ... a lot. Facing the young prodigies of the team, the always-righ Hetty advised Nell to remember Kensi about the meeting they were about to have, a few minutes later, concerning the new case. Then, she walked away, but not before she "solved" the problem inside the room. She asked Mr. Beale to go inside that room and soothe the detective, also finding out if their _guest_ needed anything.

Oh! Bugger!

Eric turned white, as if his blood had fled from his body and his heart had fallen at his feet and Nell looked at him with pity and concern. While Hetty was going away, the duo heard her sing softly her last words.

«_Roses are red, Violets are blue, this raunchy Sabatino irritates Deeks, Kensi, me and you (isn't that righ?)_»

At the end, entering that room was not as physically threatening for Eric as he previewed. During the time they were alone, the rejected Sabatino assured Deeks, recklessly, he had insisted with Kensi, but ended up telling him how she introduced his neck to her friend "Miss knife". Leaving the room, the proud agent reminded the detective that even if he was not "competition" for the LAPD liaison, that did not mean that Deeks had none… maybe with with other men. In fact, he could not be expecting anything else with "a woman like that".

The detective didn't get angry with the malicious comment, whispering to himself far more original words – "Wonder Woman", because he was sure of the veracity of the words he had spoken in her ear. When Nell came to seat by the disputed maiden she found her lost in her undisturbed thoughts (with a smile on her lips). Kensi was repeatedly hearing his words inside her head.

_You are mine._

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_;)_


	4. Undercover

**NCISLA does not belong to me.**

**Thank you for your support and I'm sorry for the delay (to be honest, this chapter was harder to write and adapt – hope you enjoy it).**

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_- Purple -_

**Chapter 4 (Undercover)**

There were no whistles, no beeps, and no fire signals or Morse code echoing through the corridors of the headquarters that day. Eric was still a bit shaky and nervous with the task he had had to accomplish and Hetty found a more efficient way of calling her team's members…

The junior agent was still on the sofa where he had let her, she was staring into space, looking at nothing, but probably thinking about everything… Nell felt that she had to break the invisible bubble where Kensi seemed to be wrapped – as if she was locked in a world nobody but her could enter (well, nobody but her and a well-known shaggy detective). The field agent told her friend she was fine and quickly recomposed her mask, fiercely looking at Nell and defying the doubt present in the analyst's eyes.

Together they went upstairs to the briefing for the new case. Meanwhile, Nell thought about the repercussions this new case could have on her friend's ability to be '_fine'_.

At that moment, Kensi thought that maybe this new mystery would make her focus on the task of crime solving, so she could easily forget about her problems. She thought that maybe this new investigation would consume all her energy, so that she could avoid the sleepless nights she was experiencing (every night she fought the images of his eyes begging her for the end of the deadlock they were in). She thought that maybe she would work more with Sam or Callen for some reason and less with Deeks – and then she would find ways to avoid conversations about secret assignments and mornings of surf; or discussions about men from wars and women from the beach; or talks about strong words that were said and strong words that remained unspoken…

If she had been honest with herself, she would have admitted that her body and her heart wanted nothing more than to be as close to him as possible, but the rational part of her was advising "distance"… And then, she decided to trust Hetty. Their boss knew her team better than anyone and she seemed to do exactly what they needed, when they needed it, even if they haven't yet discovered they needed something – or so Kensi wanted to believe. The junior agent thought Hetty was preparing a way of separating them, after what had just happened. And even if it would honestly break her heart, she thought it would be for the better; she had still to understand her thoughts and feelings about what had happened in Afghanistan and since she returned to LA and about _his_ words.

The senior agents were alerted and alarmed by Hetty (the "robot Hetty" – which allowed her to be in several places at once), telling them they should join Nell and Eric upstairs and bring the detective along. "Rock-paper-scissors" was the game they chose to decide who was going to talk to the detective. Chance chose Sam (or maybe it was the fact that Callen cheated).

When Sam found Deeks in the gym, the LAPD liaison did what he does best and started an incessant rambling, which surprised the ex-navy SEAL. Not that it was unusual for the detective to act that way, but he wasn't usually as honest as his words were showing at that moment. Sam was surprised with the sincerity and genuineness of his words.

"_Deeks", _Sam had called him with caution.

"_I know what you want to say Sam. I did wrong. First, I did less than I should have done, then… I did more than I should have done and… ahhh… I spoke too much.", _the detective confessed.

"_Deeks", _the agent tried to interrupt… unsuccessfully.

"_I didn't think, you know?! We shouldn't have this kind of behavior. That's why we're different from the scumbags we track. And I'm not like this… I won't ever be like him… And she hated it… I know that badass Blye hated it… of course! I didn't think enough…", _he was saying, never facing Sam, but the senior agent knew these stories more personally than one would think and decided to stop the detective's rambling for good.

"_You thought too much, actually."_

For the first time since the ex-Navy SEAL found the detective in the gym, Deeks looked at him with a glint of curiosity in his eyes and he let Sam speak.

"_Deeks, everybody noticed how strange Kensi is since she returned from her assignment. She's different and we all would like to know why. We're all going mad with her behavior and attitude. Did you honestly think we haven't noticed it? But there's one thing we're absolutely sure… we don't need any investigation or the amazing capacities of Nell to know who Kensi really is – the person she is. At the end of the day, we know she might be a little bit lost in some situation, but we trust her character."_

The detective breathed in deeply and lowered his eyes to the floor. But the older man hadn't finished yet.

"_And you know Deeks… deep down, you know everything you need to know."_

In fact, the past developments weren't really important. He did know – deep down – what she felt (and what she feels), he was even able to imagine what she thought (and what she thinks) and maybe he could also understand what scared her – even when she didn't. But it broke his heart every time he felt he wasn't _enough_. However, he looked the man by his side in the eyes and tried to assure him he understood the message: with highs and lows, brighter side and darker side, difficult jobs or impossible missions, family stories or love stories, they all knew each other profoundly… and he had already seen _her_ soul.

"_Thanks, Sam."_

"_Let's go, Deeks."_

They joined the other members of the team to be informed about the surprises the job was preparing for them (well, maybe not just the job, but also fate… together with the almighty Hetty).

When Deeks and Sam entered the room upstairs, Hetty looked at the detective with a delighted and devious attitude. Deeks thought that maybe, just maybe, she also disliked Sabatino and his demeanor, and so, he thought that she might have appreciated the "gifts" he gave to the CIA agent. She hadn't told him anything and it seemed she wasn't going to say anything about that matter. Little did he know, (though his skilled boss really didn't like Sabatino) her devious attitude had different reasons – reasons that all the highly trained investigators in that room weren't able to guess.

All six elements of this wonder team went aboard this new adventure; everyone knew that the bad guys always find a thousand ways to put the most outlandish obstacles in their paths, but at that moment, none of them knew the unexpected surprises orchestrated by the small woman in command. The events of the past few months tore the few intact "heart strings" of this committed and experienced agent, who had not lived for her, but always for a mission. The events of the past few months created bruises in the soul of this amazing warrior, bruises she knew would be forever. This team was "The Team" (her biggest accomplishment) and she was convinced it would be the last one she would form and the one to which would be her legacy - these men and women would be her heirs. Therefore, her true last mission would clearly be to lead them to that happiness, that happiness so big it hurts.

However, her fiercest agent couldn't be further from that kind of happiness. She had not faced Deeks when she saw him come in, she looked straight at the screen and avoided the unnerving task of looking into his eyes and seeing how sad or angry or disappointed he was with her. She also didn't know what to do and how to react.

Obviously, he looked at her, he didn't want to, but it was inevitable. Quickly, his eyes roamed all over her body and he analyzed her posture. In the midst of the fight and with all the adrenaline of what had happened moments before, he hadn't even been able to register in his memory every movement of his muscles with the accuracy he'd have liked. Or maybe, it was his old habit of thinking that he is never capable enough or his belief that he always does everything wrong. For whatever reason, he couldn't remember how he had picked her up, how he had positioned her on the couch, how he had approached her ear and, suddenly, he wondered if he had hurt her (sometimes, he seemed convinced that one day he wouldn't be able to avoid becoming a monster). And, if he had hurt that woman, he would have considered _that_ to be the last of his tragedies, he couldn't even imagine the wound that something like that would cause him.

Hetty interrupted his thoughts when she began explaining the details of their new mission. Apparently, a terrorist group from Castia planned on using a cruise ship from a company based in the city of angels to escape the country, carrying with them a secret prototype, which would allow the creation of small dimension bombs, capable of dramatic impacts. The agents would have to embark at San Pedro Bay and investigate the passengers to figure out these terrorists, recover the prototype and avoid damage.

Nell was the next one to talk and the carrier of this mission's first surprise. She explained to the agents how they would do their undercover work. At that moment, with a simple touch of Eric on his keyboard, there were several pictures on the giant screen of that room – pictures of "Justin and Melissa ".

To say that the heart of the brunette leaped, swirled and grew inside her chest, as if it was forcing her to run to catch it, is to say next to nothing about what she felt in that moment – what she felt at the time of the explosion of pixels that composed, not only an image, but a set of memories that had embedded her skin, memories of moments that forced her to accept everything that had changed about her. In the picture, his smile, which so frankly reached his eyes… his eyes, that were directed at her, forced her to recall the first morning they woke up in that house.

_(At the first hours of the morning, she was in the center of the bed, the beige sheets that covered her in the previous night were now unbelievably wrapped around her body and had a multitude of wrinkles – the result of a night in which she struggled with the persistent insomnia of the last years of her life._

_The moment, the night before (their first night… on the mission), when they'd found themselves next to each other, by the bed, had been quite embarrassing. Neither of them had known what to say or what to do until the moment he had decided to ramble. And he had rambled – he'd talked about the size of the bed, and about the benefits of using the "human heat", when it comes to energy savings and environmental protection, and also about the possibility of sharing the alarm clock and ... and then she had had to stop him, she'd grabbed a pillow and a blanket and she'd headed to the couch, determined to sleep on it. But then, in two rushed steps, he'd reached her took the objects from her hands, saying she could take the couch the next day, because his sexy masseuse had advised him to try harder surfaces._

_When she woke up that morning, she looked at the small sofa on the opposite side of the room, expecting to find him fast asleep, with the blanket wrapped around him and his blond locks splayed out on the huge cotton pillow, in the exact same position she had seen him in the sneaks that she had resorted to, two or three times (or more) during that long night, while she was trying to get some sleep (and maybe dream a little)._

_However, she could not find him on the couch and stood up quickly, not noticing that Deeks had just switched places in the room._

_For a highly trained and capable-elite-secret agent, she was probably still fighting the shadows of sleep; or perhaps she was wrapped up by the comfort of the scenario in which they had been put undercover; or maybe she was suddenly intoxicated by the sweet aroma of having someone with whom she could fight the loneliness; or perhaps the explanation for what happened next was a simple slip – a slip named Deeks._

_Yes, a slip called Deeks was what happened to her, and when she stood up, she didn't see him on the floor, at the foot of the bed, the place where he had repositioned the blanket and the pillow, and she tripped over his feet, having fallen directly on top of him, breast to chest and faces side by side._

_Her instant reaction was to freeze, not moving a single muscle. Now him ... he showed reflexes of a true jungle cat ... he wrapped his right arm protectively around her waist and, as he rolled his body - and her body along - to the right, he removed his gun from under the pillow, with his left hand, and aimed it quickly at the bedroom door and then to the window, until he realized there was just the two of them..._

_Then he looked at a very-embarrassed-and-unable-to-utter-a-word partner and told her assertively: "starting today, we will share the bed, princess.")_

Eric ended Kensi's sweet memory, by explaining that the aliases of Justin and Melissa were intact and safe. The Russian terrorists who had discovered them in the previous mission had not had the time to spread the word. What he did not explain was that he had told Hetty he could easily create other characters for the agent and the detective, but she refused the suggestion, insisting that they retake Melissa and Justin.

Now Callen… Callen would be the most surprised by this mission. Hetty informed her team that Sam would go on the cruise ship as an employee of the cruise line, as there was a suspicion that the terrorists could have plotted the escape with one of the staff. Callen was informed that he would find an agent of the CIA at the port of San Pedro, and that this agent would work with him on this mission, undercover, as this would be a joint operation.

"What is our story Hetty?" the deeply frustrated senior agent asked to the one who had all the answers.

"It is a love story, Mr. Callen!"

* * *

;)


	5. Definitions

**I don't own NCIS LA.**

**A owe ToOldToShip a HUGE "thank you" for reading this over for me and help me with my **_**shameful**_** language errors. I cannot thank you enough. I uploaded again some of the previous chapters (1, 2 and 4), which were also reviewed, but the content of the story wasn't changed. Check them out if you had any doubts – the text is clearer now. Once again, thanks to ToOldToShip – you're awesome.**

* * *

**- **_Purple_** -**

**Chapter 5 (definitions)**

If you look up in the dictionary, you'll find out that "give up" means to surrender, to cease to do or perform, to desist, to stop, to part with or to relinquish, to lose hope or admit defeat, to abandon what one is doing or planning to do.

And he wondered if he would be capable of relinquishing the sound of her laughter to the shadowy silence he had when she was away; he questioned if he could cease to lock eyes with her as often as he used to (to cease to look into and dream about her beautiful mismatched eyes); he contemplated if he could lose the hope of listening to her voice whenever he wanted to; he felt that maybe he should admit defeat and give her the space she's been silently demanding; he wondered if he should abandon his plans of questioning her; he thought maybe he should desist or stop… and these last musings – surprisingly – gave him some sort of deep relief.

At some point, he felt he was in the middle of the ocean, endlessly trying to keep his head above water; he felt he'd seen full moon nights, sizzling afternoons and icy windy mornings and he was getting nowhere. She had returned two weeks before. On the day she had returned, she hadn't called him, visited him, warned him… there had been nothing… not a word… And so, on that same day (after months of waiting, after having her taken away from him by Hetty and Granger, after her promise to talk, after her confession about the frozen lake and him being the thing she wanted the most, after that night…)… on that same day, he was profoundly surprised to find her in the gym. He stood there rooted to the spot as she came nearer and nearer. She kissed him and hugged him and he thought that was the best feeling in the entire world. But then, his world was turned upside down (again). At the end of that same day, she had decided she needed space and she needed time and she needed seclusion and apparently he needed nothing… well…

And that had been two weeks ago; and during those two weeks, she had been cocky (arrogant even), distant (or cold), infuriating… and she never kept her promise, she didn't talk to him. And then, at the end of those two weeks, on a sunny morning, he entered the bullpen certain that that would be the day he would demand an explanation, just to find her with a angrier-than-usual-look on her face and ended the morning hitting Sabatino, saying _those words_ to her, talking to Sam (telling him more than what he probably should have) and finding out he would be Justin again. He was suddenly exhausted.

And so, giving up seemed so much easier and simpler, so less hard and demanding… a relief…

(…)

However, normally things aren't so black and white.

Engrossed in these thoughts, and though he used small and slow steps, he got to the dressing area very quickly. When he was preparing to look for Justin's clothes, he heard one of the curtains pulled back and _he saw her_. He then had one and only one thought: giving up would be too difficult, too complex, too demanding, too hard – it would be ultimately _impossible_.

She was wearing Melissa's flowery red sundress.

Kensi was wearing Melissa's flowery red sundress, but she was still certain she was a highly trained agent, experienced, ferocious and efficient. She was an independent woman; she had been an independent teen; she was a capable, smart and free woman. She was able to scare many big men with just a fierce stare. So many criminals saw their "dark successful careers" turn out to ashes by this ferocious agent's hands. To her teammates, she proved (on a daily basis) that her abilities were as good as theirs, never being shadowed by them. And to her partner, she had already proven they were side by side, she would protect him as well as he would protect her, and she depended on him, just as much as he depended on her.

Despite all that, the dangerous Kensi Marie Blye melted. Yep. She melted because, though she's undeniably ferocious and lethal, this Wonder Woman does have a kryptonite. And if you check the dictionary again, you'll find out that "melt" means to be changed, to dissolve, to become softened in feeling. And so, Kensi was certain that she was melting.

("_You are mine_.")

His words – moments before – left her shaking, heart beating rapidly, thoughts going a mile a minute… She knew him so well and so she was one-hundred-percent certain he didn't want to be her owner, but he wanted her to be _his_… and that feeling – being wanted by the one she wished would always desire and want her – made her recognize, not just simple butterflies in her stomach, but real storms and tornadoes, whirling and spinning inside her body. Not that she would ever voice these feelings… never ever… not even a small portion of these feelings.

She was still unbelievingly torn between the pain she felt whenever she looked into his eyes and saw his sadness, his twinge, his hope, his need… and the guilt she felt about what she hadn't done in the _past_, about what she kept thinking she could have done before. And she also felt she had no other option than to honor the promise she had made in Afghanistan.

But – at that moment – she knew how to clearly read his three simple words, she knew what he really meant; the meaning of his words was also engraved within her – she wanted him to be hers, as much as he wanted her to be his, no doubt of that. She wanted him so badly that her whole body ached because she didn't have his arms around her waist, pressing his body firmly to hers, in a sweet warm embrace; her whole body ached because (though painfully close) she was so distant from the warmth and comfort of his body, a comfort that once gave her the sense of security she hadn't known for so long; her whole body ached because the desire of having his lips – sweet and hot and firm – caressing her skin endlessly was almost unbearable; her body ached every time he didn't call her by the (secretly loved) awful nicknames because the coldness she felt in those moments was screaming to her that that wasn't them… and she desperately wanted to _belong_ to the definition of that small-four-letter word – **them**…

And in that moment, when she flicked open the curtain and stepped out of the dressing room, the awe and longing, and even the allure she saw in his eyes, as the passionate blue roamed through the curves of her body, made her want to act purely on impulse and run to him. Run and hug and kiss and…

Then, he decided to communicate. And Gosh!... he did that so wrongly, unbelievingly wrong.

"I think I owe you an apology." Actually, he thought he owed her an apology just as much as she owed him one. However, this LAPD detective had this deep belief he would always do and had always done everything wrong. His usual self-compliments were so repeated, so amplified… at the end, they were almost caricatured. But they did serve their purpose of hiding the scared little boy that was still inside him.

("_Yep. Maybe you should apologize… but maybe I should too_", she thought. Watching his posture, she saw an expression of defeat – an expression of defeat she knew she was mimicking.)

Trying to interrupt him, she called his name. "Deeks…". Her voice, less than a whisper, wasn't enough to stop him.

"I never liked Sabatino. Well, that was obvious. And I thought you were in need of help from your partner… I mean, you seemed disturbed there and he was hugging you… well, but maybe you weren't…". He rambled, very nervously, looking straight to the floor – the floor that almost… almost… almost looked like a frozen lake breaking. But he couldn't let it break, he thought – because his heart would break along with the ice, and even worse than that, her heart would break too. He just didn't really know what to do. And so, disturbed, he stumbled over his words, and he was saying things he knew were false.

("_How can he think that I wasn't disturbed by that…_").

"Deeks…". This time, she was more assertive when she spoke, she might even have been angry, but even so, she wasn't able to stop his rambling.

"I mean.. I know you didn't want him to hug you that way and I know you really don't care about him… he told me about what you said to him and…»

(_"Oh! So he told you… Thank God!", _she thought sarcastically_._)

"I can't even begin to picture his face when he met your friend, lady knife… He should know better than to mess around with badass Blye…"

"Deeks…", she tried, with a tone of almost despair in her voice (she wanted him to trust her, but she knew that, in that moment, she was asking for too much; she knew that it was her fault he seemed so broken; she really didn't know how to fix the mess she'd created; she was certain that the _meeting_ she waited for so long from her past was something she then wished had never happened (but it had happened… in Afghanistan); she was so absolutely certain that her last assignment stole from her more, much more than time itself…)

"And I should know that too… I shouldn't have told you what I… I mean, I know we aren't mi… well, you shouldn't care about what I say, sometimes a word is just a word… we have no right to be demanding anything from each other…", he said slowly, stopping and breathing deeply, every once in a while; he was positive he should be correcting his previous three words, though he was correcting the absolute true, replacing it with lies. But that woman… that woman was furiously disturbing and he felt he was indeed in the middle of a frozen lake – she was what he wanted the most (he already knew he couldn't physically be away from her, he almost got sick when she was overseas), but he also felt he was drowning in her cryptic attitudes.

("_What? We have no right…? You're letting us fall?_" – if he had looked her in the eyes, he would have seen disappointment; it was as if she was waiting for him to find the solution to her problem – a problem she hadn't explained to him but she was hoping he would magically guess; it was as if she was hoping for him to arrive on a beautiful white horse, to take her away to a fictional kingdom and magically erase her _dilemma_… Oh God! What was she thinking? She was really exhausted…)

But he didn't catch the look of disappointment in her eyes and kept on going.

"… and we can do whatever we want to do, you and I… you can… you can do whatever you want to do…" – he said these last words with more than a hint of bitterness; she had indeed done whatever she wanted to: she pushed him away, no questions asked, no explanations shared…

("_No… it's not like that. I'm not doing what I want to do, I'm doing what I have to do…_" - she thought.)

"… and I… I'll also do whatever I want to do…" – he seemed to be concluding.

("_What? Is this what it's all about?_" – she thought, and suddenly, so suddenly, what had previously been doubt, guilt, fear, disappointment… became anger…)

Oh! How poor these communication skills were: he rambled, but never said what he really meant; she had a million thoughts crossing her mind, but almost didn't say a word…

And so, their _amazing_, _wonderful_, _masterful_ communication skills resulted in _this_.

"Of course you'll do whatever you want to do, Deeks. I've seen it many times, and even this early morning…" – she angrily told him, while remembering the blond woman at the beach that morning, but also recalling memories of Monica and Nicole and dangerous ex-girlfriends and Yoga Bunnies…

"What are you talking about Kensi?"

"I'm saying you're right Deeks. Neither of us has any right to question the other and I'm glad that's crystal clear."

She internally exploded and broke with her own last words and turned and walked away, leaving him angry and sure that, though he wasn't capable of giving up on them, he really needed the help that destiny still owed him. He surely wasn't capable of giving up, but he was sure he was losing strength and self-control. He knew he would have to give his best on this assignment – he would have to be professional, focused, dedicated and… quick… yeah, it would be great if it ended up being a simple and quick assignment. He knew that Justin and Melissa had already been a big challenge as it was; it had already been a big challenge for him in the past, when things were simpler and easier. That time around… well…

* * *

Callen got to San Pedro – Port of Los Angeles very quickly. It was a sunny day and the sky was bright blue, but there was a soft breeze, and so it wasn't too hot. He was curious about finding out who his new partner was, though he wasn't showing it, keeping his mask of seriousness and indifference on.

Suddenly, he saw her. She was clearly looking at him and walking towards him. He checked his gun discretely in the holster and started ringing OSP.

"Nell, call LAPD. I think I found a fugitive they would certainly like to catch…"

"Callen.." – the analyst interrupted him.

"Came on. Do it before she blows my cover… By the way, I'm still waiting to learn something about my alias…"

The second interruption was longer and was not produced by Nell's lips.

"Mr. Callen, she is your new partner. You'll use some old aliases – Anna and Scott Hill, a married couple. Please remember you're an experienced agent and that you have a duty to this country. I don't need to remind you about the importance of this assignment." – Hetty ended the call, leaving Callen shocked and exasperated.

("_Ok… I can do it… I can…_" – was all he could think.)

Then, she was next to him. She left her luggage on the ground and, with fast movements, she closed the distance between them, she circled her arms around his waist and she kissed him. None of this came as a surprise. The problem was he couldn't avoid reciprocating – he reciprocated the hug, using more energy than needed and connecting their bodies in each centimeter; he reciprocated the kiss, fighting her for dominance and ending it by caressing her bottom lip with his tongue, after biting it softly.

"Scott, sweetheart! Thanks for this trip; this was the best birthday present ever." She told him while still in his arms.

"Anna, actually this present came from my Aunt Hetty. Let's not forget it."

She then whispered in his ear. "And the kiss? Was it also from your aunt?"

* * *

She entered Hetty's office a little afraid – actually you could only use this word (afraid) to describe Kensi if the situation involved one of only two people in the entire world and Hetty was one of them. Henrietta told Kensi to sit down and she obliged.

"How are you Miss Blye?"

"Fine, I'm fine Hetty." – Hetty wondered why she bothered to ask Kensi this question if her answer was always so predictable.

"This is your first undercover job since your return." – she simply stated.

"I'm fine Hetty. I'm ready." – She knew she couldn't be farther from ready, but she also knew that she would never… ever… ask the operation manager to skip this job; not because she was afraid to be seen as weak or incapable, but because she deeply desired to be close to her partner.

"Have you talked to him again after your return?" – Hetty wasn't asking about Deeks and Kensi knew it.

("_Him._")

"He'll contact me."

Hetty was silent and waited for Kensi to continue.

The junior agent breathed slowly and spoke again.

"I should have looked for him before. He wasn't really _him_ when he left. And he needed me to be whole again and I failed him. It was my fault and I can't fail again. I can't betray my _duty_ and my word again."

"It is a friendship story, indeed." – Hetty said calmly.

"What?"

"Sometimes, a friend can be the only connection someone has to life. I know you won't fail as a friend, and _that_ is your duty."

Hetty stopped and seemed to be finished, so the brunette got up to leave the office. However, the wise lady's words were spinning inside Kensi's head – _a friendship story_; maybe the heavy weight of the guilt she felt (a guilt that replaced years of anger and the bitterness of being left on a Christmas morning) was unreasonable; and maybe it wasn´t unworthiness or a proof of cowardice and selfishness to offer a friend help but refuse to give anything else… and maybe, there was no reason for guilty feelings… none whatsoever, not in the past, not in the present, not in the future.

"Miss Blye…", Hetty said as Kensi was leaving, "…please, tell your partner that the task he finished this morning, by my order, was very successful. He was able to persuade the young kitchen assistant to refuse the job on the cruise ship and it actually did well at the audition he encouraged her to attend. Now, Mr. Hanna can replace her – that will be his alias."

When the young agent finally left the room, again with a heavy heart, Hetty said under her breath, to no one's ears actually, "I'm Henrietta Lange and Henrietta Lange doesn't allow misunderstandings to influence the fate of her loved ones."

* * *

;)


End file.
